There has to be a wind against me.

Don’t let me drain!

The life of my blood must be struck!

Slip away to the dredges of pages.

I will not slip away!

Come, please, take it.

The cold rain has not dampened me.

Step by step.

Begging by my will please succeed me!!

Please please come strike me in the day light.

Wipe me from this place!!!

If it hurts…

It will hurt just fine.


Write it down you fool! We don’t want this something to lose its grip on the moment! Gulp, gulp! Down the hatch does the write good! This ever-shaking shadow! The dread of the far away end. And if it ever knocks on the bedroom closet door. Knock, knock! You, I mean you wearing clothes. The clothes you switch into so that you could get in bed. Knock, knock!

Thinking, not now!

 I have reports to make! Gulp, gulp! As the mountain wind does howl!

 The dread, the dread, the simple dread!

The pang in your chest!

The closet has no exit!

Stay still you idiot, this evil thing mucks about till it finds the creature that beds.

Knock, knock!

And still, it be upon me!

OH my, how I wish something would knock-knock at my closet door! Please come torment me. Give the pages of this report great nothingness. Let the ink melt from them into the depths of the earth. Let it reach the bound-ness of the center! Let me be connected so deeply that I see beyond my own means! I am, but a shadow riding the wind! Save this! Save this thing that I must read again! A Shadow riding the wind! The Wind! This ethereal thing that begs to be tamed with equations that lack the muster. To beckon the knock! The rude intervention that we all yearn for.

The crashing wave that wakes the derelict traveler.

The wave that crashed on the shore as we wake once more. Basking in the sun to remember the score of the knock. The sun feels warm, but the fright of that night! The KNOOOOCKKK! Wake you fool it is here! And you scour behind your calculation! How can you miss it!?! Gulp, gulp. My spirit pulls me out of that bed; It rips me from that warmth. I creep in no haste to that knock. I stand before a door. The knock thuds against my chest, echoing moments of no meaning. I want this. I want this now. Now, before I am old. Gulp, gulp. Period! Over! The knock is here and gone! And I have beckon to its lust! The drenched desire of testament! Hark the archangel has come to knock on my closet door! I would, in the shadows, meet this weary traveler. Please, sit before me and my family. Though I only have these earthy pleasures to offer, but please tell me of your troubles!

This world keeps me in nothing. And I cannot escape. The noose binds me, but does not relieve. I long for anew. I want a rapture of truth for I am stuck like you to a raft that keeps me afloat.  


It is cold, isn’t it? The wind at your back.

Why do you shutter at the eternal heat engine, friend?

The breath in your lungs are more than enough to bring heat into this adventure. Here, now before you is a glimpse into that light. But you young things full of fright. The fright that straightens your spine and beseeches you with the worry that says, “they will judge you.”

But who is they!?!

The gods or the peasants fumbling about you, breathing the same air!

Love, you bastard!

It has nothing to do with you. Your love is not this ill-fated thing that the meek sulk about.

One day, the rain will be too much.

The tide will rise beyond my will. Drifting below I will, for a moment, feel no pain. I will remember you and smile. What happens after that I do not know, but with my love I will endure.